


Birdie

by knowingtheweatherinomahanebraska



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, M/M, POV Female Character, Psychological Torture, Reader-Insert, Swearing, The power of friendship, Torture, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowingtheweatherinomahanebraska/pseuds/knowingtheweatherinomahanebraska
Summary: There are a number of reasons that you turned to a life of crime, but joining the Gotham City Sirens was not one of them. You can't complain, though. They put a roof over your head, food on the table, and all you have to do is take a bullet once in a while.Or, a young criminal helps Selina out of a bind, and, in need of a good lookout, she brings the kid back to the Sirens to mold to their whims. The Scarecrow gets involved. Sometimes Batman shows up. It's a hell of a time.





	1. Stalking Prey

You’re minding your business when you meet Catwoman. _The_ Catwoman. Getting from Point A to Point B in the Gotham City unscathed is an accomplishment in and of itself - and you have been successfully doing just that for almost as long as you’ve been living there. Of course, all luck runs outs

It’s a cold autumn night when you drop the ring you’d been fiddling with on your way home from work, and you watch it roll loudly down an alleyway - the same alleyway, as your luck would have it, where a woman appears to be surrounded by several large men. They had seemed to be making some kind of conversation up until now, but the conversation stops abruptly as your jewelry clatters to the ground.

The four men and the seemingly cornered woman all turn to look at you.

“Hey!” you shout awkwardly and just a beat too late, voice breaking as you realize your mistake. The men growl like dogs when they spot you.

“This isn’t your business,” spits the closest one, who appears to have a rather offensive tattoo on the back of his beefy neck. He turns back to the woman, and you feel your own neck turn to a cold sweat.

“I’m serious!” you interject again, even more meekly than before. Someone in the alley, possibly even the woman, seems to cough out a laugh. You take a breath and speak again.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you!” you say. “But if you don’t leave her alone, I’m gonna have to!” and you feel better about yourself already, shaky voice and all.

“Do you hear that boys?” comes a silky voice through the dark of the alleyway. “My friend here will have to hurt you if you don’t leave me alone.”

There’s a quick movement, and suddenly one of the men has the woman pinned against the wall. Your head begins to pound as blood rushes in your ears, and you hear the sounds of wings all around you.

Panic wells within your chest. _Something terrible is going to happen_ , you think, but hey, you did warn them.

“Alright, Cat-“ says the one pinning the woman against the wall, and as he says it, one half of your brain thinks _Wait, like, THAT Cat?_ , while the other half thinks _RAGE!_ , and before you can respond to either the fluttering of wings becomes loud enough for all to hear.

The men seem to stop breathing.

“Is...is it him?” one of them finally asks, and the woman, whoever she is, lets out a sharp, clear laugh. The man holding her against the wall tightens his grip. You step forward, and as you do so, there is a flurry of feathers, and a small flock of birds dives down into the alleyway.

The men wave their hands and shout, and you duck as guns go off around you but paired with the blackness of the night and speed of the birds, they miss their targets every time. They flail about embarrassingly for a few moments while you keep low, arms over your head before you distinctly hear one of them shout “fuck it!”, and they run off into the night, the birds following.

Exhilarated, you rise, watching them go.

Honestly, you feel _so_ cool right now.

“Yeah, and, uh, get a better tattoo while you’re at it!” you shout triumphantly after the men. You turn back to the alley.

“Are you alright -“

But the woman is gone, melted into the night like so much fog, and you think, _Yeah, definitely THAT Cat_ , when a low squawk spins you around again.

One of the birds, a large and handsome crow, has returned to you. It‘s landed on the ground, blinking hard up at you, carrying something long and glittery in its beak. Crouching, you reach out - the crow has gifted you a gold chain, likely fresh off of one of the assailants. You gently trace your finger along the bird’s face, and it rubs against you for a moment, before taking off into the inky black sky.

You hope this will be your last incident with a Gotham Rogue, not in the least because of its positive outcome, but you’ve never been lucky before, so why start now?

* * *

It’s a Friday, and the bar was fun and all, but the drunker your old college buddy gets, the more she seems to want to remind you that you haven’t paid rent on time in months, and, well, you’re just not really in the mood for that tonight.

Times are tough, especially for the young and foolishly idealistic, and so you’ve been forced to act less than idealistic lately, but she doesn’t know that, how could she know that? And so rather than start a fight, you settle your tab early and look around for something less-than-idealistic to do.

You don’t target the elderly, that’s your first rule. You try not to go after parents, although it’s always tough to know. You definitely don’t try it with people who are clearly down on their luck, either, because you’re used to being the proverbial kicked dog, and you know how much it sucks. So with a limited pool of choices, you tend to wait around for trouble to find you - and it has a way of finding you, that’s for sure.

Tonight, trouble comes in the form of a sharp-dressed, older man, with beer on his breath and lust in his eyes. He’s been following you for a few blocks now, and every time you stop, he giggles and stops as well.

He disgusts you. Inside your head, you can hear the cries of hundreds of birds, and you feel something like vindication already.

You slow your pace, and he quickens his. You can almost feel his breath on your neck, and it’s all you can do not to slap him right there, but you follow another one of your rules - they have to strike first.

So, when he reaches around and grabs at your waist, turning you to face him, you don’t really feel bad about headbutting him.

Well, okay, you don’t feel bad about headbutting him _at first_ but, as it turns out, it hurts you as much as it hurts him, and yeah, it looks cool in the movies, but you’re pretty sure you’re bleeding, and he is definitely drunker than you, which means he bounces back from the near-concussion quicker.

He says something lewd but frankly unoriginal in your ear, and you try to twist away, but your pounding head makes everything spin. You think he might have your wrists, but you might also be on the ground. You try desperately to focus on one clear sound - a cawing in your mind. It’s angry and loud, and you hope that’s enough.

Things are clearer now, and, okay, he’s definitely copping more than a feel, when the man stumbles backward suddenly. You blink several times, regaining your sense of balance at last, when he stumbles back again, hands swatting. Then again, and again, he stumbles, he swats, he stumbles, he falls.

You think at first that he’s melting into the night, but one of his frantic hands makes contact, and you hear the familiar cawing sound echo in the street. Where last time you had been aided by a number of different birds, it seems your old pal the crow has reached out to the rest of the Gotham crow population in an effort to help you, and you have to admit the effect is pretty sick. The man half-runs, half-crawls away from the descending flock, and several of the crows are at your feet, each sporting gifts.

This one has cuff links, this one a watch, and so on, and so forth.

“Thanks, guys,” you whisper, gently taking each of the objects from your friends, when a familiar, silky voice calls out to you.

“And here I thought I’d have to intervene. Glad to see you still have the dive bombers on your side.”

The crows scatter away as you look around for the source of the voice. Almost as though out of nowhere, the woman from the other night materializes before you. She’s dressed from head-to-toe in black, like you, but, unlike you, she’s donned a catsuit and thigh-high black boots. She wears a mask and an unmistakable ear-shaped apparatus atop her head.

“You’re...you’re-“

“Yes, yes, I am,” the woman interrupts, but she flashes you a sharp smile. “And who might you be?”

You tell her your first name in a rush, but she cuts you off.

“Ah, ah, ah. Now I know your name. I know your height, I know how long your hair is, I know what you sound like.” She speaks very quickly, and you suddenly feel very, very stupid. “If I wanted to, I could hand this information over the GCPD for a handsome reward, couldn’t I?”

You almost nod, but think better of it, instead staring blankly back at her. Catwoman watches you closely for a moment, and then smiles again.

“Good answer. Never give out information that can hurt you.” Catwoman tells you. “Now, tell me - what is your name?”

Shit.

“Um, I...” You flounder, searching for words. Your hands make an embarrassing circling motion. “I don’t actually have one.”

Catwoman groans, and yeah, this is definitely the most embarrassing night of your life.

“You’re telling me you walk around in that getup,” she says, pointing at you, and your dark pants, and your black poncho, and your gas-and-eye mask with one clawed finger, “and your first instinct wasn’t to give yourself a name?”

“I’ve sort of been beta-testing some,” you offer, and you can feel how red your cheeks are right now, “but they don’t really stick, you know?”

Catwoman just looks at you, and it’s a disappointment you really just can’t bear. She looks older up close, you realize. Of course, she is, considering you’d been hearing about her antics since childhood, but for some reason, you had been expecting a 20-something like yourself. This woman's at least a decade older than you, and it makes sense, really.

No one your age is _that_ put together.

She draws closer to you, and then unexpectedly reaches out to grab your mask. You back up quickly, and without realizing it you’re on top of a dumpster.

“How did you do that?” asks Catwoman curiously from 10 feet away.

You look down at yourself - one moment you’re close enough to touch Gotham’s most famous femme fatale, and the next you’re a good distance away and perched on top of an overly large garbage can.

“I don’t actually know?” you admit sheepishly. “It’s like the, uh, the bird thing? I know it happens sometimes, I just don’t know why.”

Catwoman watches you again as you clamber down from the dumpster and walk cautiously back towards her. You close some of the distance between the two of you, but still, her face remains unreadable.

“So it’s a defense mechanism,” she says at last, and it almost seems like she’s going to say more, but instead she just lets the sentence hang.

“Yeah, I think so,” you say after a while. “The birds, they only show up when I’m really angry, or scared. Oh, or stressed. And sometimes, like, when I’m really happy, too? They just sort of, uh, show up whenever I’m feeling...a lot."

It feels so, so lame to say, but it’s true. You don’t really have a hold on the birds, you just know they show up when you need them. And sometimes when you don’t, but they’re good company either way.

“And the, ah... dumpster?” Catwoman asks you, and you shrug in response.

“Fight or flight?” you offer, smiling a little, but she doesn’t seem amused.

“You really don’t have a hold on this thing, do you?” she asks you. You consider lying, but what would be the point in that?

“Um, yeah, that would be a no.”

Catwoman shakes her head and reaches up a clawed hand to massage her temple.

“What did I tell you earlier? Don’t go telling people your vulnerabilities,” she scolds, but there’s no real malice to it.

“Well, I just thought maybe you were gonna...” You trail off, embarrassed.

“Maybe I was going to what?” she asks sharply.

“Umm...help me? Maybe?” You stare hopefully at her through your mask.

It feels like forever before Catwoman responds, although it likely only lasts a few seconds.

“You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” she says tiredly.

“Oh, uh, I just wanna be clear here,” you stutter, “I, um, I’m not trying to make you do anything, I just thought -“

“Where do you live?” she asks sharply, cutting off what would only have been an embarrassing rant.

“A few blocks from here, by the RHK Bridge, but, um, listen,” you explain. “I have a roommate and a boyfriend. Well not my boyfriend, my roommate’s boyfriend, who’s there more than me but somehow he doesn’t get in trouble for not paying rent on time, or at all actually -"

Catwoman let’s out a loud groan, and you’re frozen into silence. She stares at you again, and you swear she’s trying to look into your soul.

“Alright,” she says at last. “My place it is then. Just so you know, I have roommates, too, and they’re a little...jumpy, around strangers.” And with that, she turns from you and begins to walk down the street. After about 15 or so feet, she realizes you’re not following her.

No, you’re rooted in place because Catwoman, THE Catwoman has invited you over to her apartment where, if the rumors are true, a few of Gotham’s other infamously-knowns reside, and just yesterday you barely even knew how to sell half of the shit you stole without being immediately caught out.

“Are you coming or not?” she calls back to you, and well, shit, if Catwoman can’t teach you how to stand up for yourself, who the fuck can?

So you trip over yourself in your hurry to catch up to her, and she smiles to herself at your eagerness. The other Sirens, she thinks, will grow attached to you easily.

It’s been a while since they’ve had fresh meat to play with.


	2. Homecoming

You and Catwoman have been walking for a while now, and she hasn’t said a word since you fumbled in your effort to follow her lead. You anticipated that she’d be a little more on the chatty side, considering every story you’d ever heard about her painted her as quick-witted and talkative, but maybe that was just a technique, a way of distracting her opponents.

It’s not until she takes a sharp right down a narrow backstreet that she begins the conversation again.

“Now Harley’s a sweetheart, as long as you stay on her good side. I’m sure she’ll love you, she’ll probably get a kick out of the bird arrangement you have going on, but don’t take her teasing too seriously, or there’ll be a problem. Ivy on the other hand -“

“Wait, wait, hold on, back up. Harley and Ivy? As in-“

“Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, yes,” Catwoman replies, exasperation evident in her voice. “Don’t you keep up with the latest gossip, kid?”

“Yeah, but I thought that’s all it was! Gossip!” you say defensively. Truth be told, you’d never put much stake in the rumors - it was possible that Catwoman lived with one of the other murderous women of Gotham, but three in one apartment?

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? I mean, for you three?” you ask her, and even though she’s not looking at you, you can feel her eyes roll.

“We’re not the ones in danger, kid,” she says simply, and that’s that.

The Gotham City Sirens were comprised of Gotham’s most dangerous and beautiful women - and you were meeting all of them. Tonight. It terrified you, to be honest, because while Catwoman wasn’t usually this charitable, she tended not to be cruel either. The unpredictable Harley Quinn and the easily annoyed Poison Ivy, on the other hand, scared the living shit out of you.

“Relax,” Catwoman calls to you, shaking you from your thoughts, almost as though she had been reading them. “They won’t kill you or anything.”

“Gee, great,” you mutter. “They planning on maiming me then?”

You’re sure you hear a soft laugh at that, but Catwoman merely goes on.

“You have a lot of potential, but you don’t really strike me as the thief type, kid. So what’s your story? Why not steal from the rich, give to the poor, all that cute stuff?” she asks you casually, but there’s a slight edge to the question.

“I am the poor,” you answer, and she actually laughs loudly this time. “I don’t know, you know? There’s not really money in vigilante work. Believe me, I’ve looked into it.”

“You could always try getting in contact with the big guy,” she says a little too lightly, and before you know it you’re following her up a fire escape. “See if he could back you for a while until you get on your feet.”

“He works alone, remember?” you say as you climb. “And besides, he’s not exactly perfect either.”

Catwoman pauses on the ladder.

“Oh?” is all she says.

You shrug, almost lose your balance, and then grip very tightly to the ladder, wrapping your legs around it.

“You alright down there?” she asks, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m okay,” you lie, breathing heavily as you try to untangle yourself from the metal. “‘Fraid of heights, that’s all.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Catwoman says, a shit-eating grin starting on her face, eyes wide beneath her mask. You simply stare back at her.

“You’re not kidding,” and now the grin is huge, and she looks absolutely _tickled_. 

“Ha ha, move along so I can get off this thing please,” you grumble, and you only feel comfortable once you’re moving again.

When you reach a landing, you crouch, hugging your knees. You are definitely further from the ground than you’d like to be right now.

“What did you mean?” Catwoman says, peering down at you.

“I meant that I’m scared of heights.”

“No, the other thing,” she says, although she’s smiling slightly at your huddled figure. “The thing about Batman.”

“Oh,” is all you really can say, but her gaze is relentless. “I don’t know. I...I heard some things. About that criminal underworld guy. The Red Hood? And if it’s true, it’s kinda fucked up.”

Catwoman merely continues to stare, and so you push off from the balls of your feet and into a standing position again.

“It’s like, we’re presented with all these heroes we’re supposed to admire and emulate, right?” you explain. “But then a few months pass by and it’s like, oh, just kidding, this person’s evil now. I don’t know. I think the guy, I think what he originally stood for? That was great and I respect him for it. But life’s not all black and white and now he’s being forced to see that, too, even in people he cares about. But he’s still doing the same thing like he's still perfect or something.”

Catwoman makes a noise of either affirmation or dissent, you can't really tell, and you rock back and forth on your feet for a few moments before finally relenting.

“I just want to make enough money that my parents aren’t worried about me, and that I can finally actually help with my mom’s medical bills, you know?” you tell her hurriedly. “And being a, a superhero or whatever is great until it gets you jackshit in return, apart from broken bones and bruised egos. I want to help people, but I want to help my family more, so I’m....” You wave for arms wildly, searching for something.

“Here,” she finishes for you.

“Here,” you repeat. She stares at you again, and with light coming in from the window next to the landing, you finally notice that he eyes are not green like all the artistic renderings of her would have you believe, but a warm brown.

“Okay,” she says finally. “I think I can introduce you to my friends.”

Your heart drops out of your stomach when she crouches down and opens the window you’ve been standing beside.

“Kitty!” cries a shrill voice, and you hear rushing footsteps from inside the apartment.

“Masks on, ladies,” Catwoman announces through the window, and there’s a pause in the flurry of steps when she says this.

“What for?” the shrill voice asks.

“Don’t tell me you’re bringing your sometimes-boyfriend over again,” says a new, coarse voice. “You know how that went over last time.” 

“Relax. I’ve brought us a new plaything,” Catwoman says through the window, and the shrill woman makes sounds of delight, and you're not going to lie, alarm bells are blaring in your head.

“You ready?” Catwoman says, turning back to you.

It’s now or never.

You nod, and Catwoman slips gracefully through the window. You wait a moment, considering trying to emulate her, and then deciding you have no idea how you would even go about doing that, so instead, you grab either side of the brick building with your hands and swing your lower body through.

You land awkwardly at a crouch on the floor, but hopefully, it looks kinda cool at least, before you slowly rise up to meet the eyes of the other women in the room.

To your left stands a woman in underwear and an oversized t-shirt eating a bag of popcorn. Her hair is a bright blonde and her nails are painted in alternating shades of red and blue. This must be none other than Harley Quinn, the volatile and often violent ex-girlfriend of the infamous Joker. You tower above her (most people do), but even still, her bright blue eyes make you feel like prey.

To your right is a frowning, dark-skinned woman, whose natural hair is dyed a soft auburn. It is only after a few moments that you notice her skin and eyes are tinged green. She stands high above you, her curves the stuff that pin-up girls dream of, and between her crossed arms and pursed lips, you can tell she does not approve of you. This has to be the brilliantly deadly Poison Ivy, and she is currently making you feel very, very small.

And then in the middle, and slightly forward of the three, is your friend, Catwoman, smiling proudly with her hands on her hips. She makes you feel safer, no doubt, but something tells you that this first meeting is really, really important.

Poison Ivy speaks first.

“Cat, who the fuck is this?”

Oh great. The first question is one you can’t even answer yet.

“Do either of you remember the bird girl I was telling you about, from a couple of weeks back?” Catwoman says, still smiling.

“I would’ve thought you hated birds,” mutters Ivy, and Harley laughs, shrill and piercing.

“Ha! That’s funny, Red. I don’t get why people say you don’t have a sense of humor,” Harley Quinn says gleefully. Clearly over the shock of your arrival, Harley has resumed eating her popcorn.

Poison Ivy’s features soften just a little, but in a flash, they’re back to judgment and distrust.

“I’ve seen her in action, girls, she’s got a lot of potential,” Catwoman continues, as though uninterrupted, “but she needs direction.”

“And so you brought her back here? To our place?” Ivy asks incredulously.

“Seriously, Kitty, we’re not exactly compasses,” Harley says through mouthfuls of her snack, plopping down onto a couch. “If she wants direction, get her a map or something,”

“Direction-based puns get redundant quickly, Harls,” says Ivy, still glaring at you.

“Yeah, I realize that, but it's too late! Already said it,” Harley says genially. “Live and learn, right bird brain?”

It takes almost too long for you to realize that Harley Quinn is talking to you, but your brain clicks and you scramble to answer.

“Uh, right?”

“Ha! ‘Uh, right?’ I like her!” Harley declares, throwing you popcorn in what seems to be an offering of friendship, but she throws you several pieces and though you try to catch them, they just end up in the carpet.

“Hmm...” is all Harley says, before laughing loudly and then turning to watch TV.

“Harley, she’s just agreeing with you so you don’t kill her,” Poison Ivy says tiredly, not taking her eyes off of you. To your comfort, neither has Catwoman.

“So?” Harley responds, eyes now glued to the television. “Smart kid, then, right?” She shifts her eyes slightly to look over at you, and this time you hit the mark.

“Right,” you say promptly, firmly, and in an even kinder gesture, Harley then tosses you a single piece of popcorn, which you catch. You consider eating it, but think better of it, and instead let the butter grease your fingers. Better than dying of poisoned oil, right? Who knows what Harley Quinn has a tolerance to.

“Come on, Ivy,” Catwoman says pleadingly, eyes leaving you, at last, to turn to the woman in question. Reluctantly, Poison Ivy rips her gaze from you to meet Catwoman’s. “She could be a real asset to us, I know it.

“Yes, I’m sure she could be, but I’m guessing you want her to move in, right?” says Ivy sharply. “Because frankly, Cat, I’d be disappointed in you if you trusted Amateur Hour over here to get in and out of the apartment unnoticed.”

At this, Harley turns from the TV to look at Catwoman, who appears only slightly fazed. 

“Yes, that was the plan,” she admits eventually. Poison Ivy huffs and Harley Quinn splutters.

“Move in!” Harley yells. “For crying out loud, Kitty Cat, we barely know the kid! I thought you swiped some memory serum of Scaredy Cat or something, that you were gonna show her off and then knock her out and drop her home or something!”

“As if I'd steal from the Scarecrow," Catwoman says impatiently, eyes narrowed. “She’s not that stupid, she's too small-time to rat on us. She needs us.”

“Oh and I suppose you know that because -“ Poison Ivy begins, but Catwoman cuts her off.

“Yes, Ivy, I do know that. What, you think I would’ve brought the kid back here without tailing her for a few weeks? She lives in a shitty apartment with a shitty roommate and the roommate’s shitty boyfriend and she’d rather die on the streets of Gotham than ask her parents for money! She needs us. And we need her.”

“I...uh...you, um...” You stutter, overwhelmed at this revelation. “If you, uh, if you’ve been tailing me, why’d you ask where I live?”

All three women turn to look at you, brows knitted.

“Okay,” says Harley. “I take it back, she’s dumb as a brick.” Ivy laughs, harshly.

“She’s not dumb as a brick, she just says stupid shit.” Catwoman snaps, and, well, ouch.

“Oh, wonderful,” says Ivy sarcastically. “Stupid shit such as this address? What our real names are?”

“For fuck’s sake, Ivy, I’m going to show her the ropes - “

“And what, until then, we hope she doesn’t spill the beans?!” Harley cries, her voice cutting through Catwoman’s sentence. “I don’t wanna wait to find out!”

“Harley, come on, a second ago you were on board-“

“She was on board when she didn’t think you were jeopardizing our safety, Cat,” Ivy retorts, voice venomous. “She was on board when you were keeping the major details from us. I know secrets are your thing with your man, Cat, but that doesn’t fly with us and it is never going to, so - what the fuck?”

Poison Ivy, unfortunately, was interrupted by Catwoman marching over to you, dragging you by your collar, and then shoving you unceremoniously out the window.

Harley squeaks out a laugh in disbelief, and then races to join Ivy at the window ledge, just in time to see you somehow not hit the pavement, careen back up towards the apartment, only to land softly on the landing, perched on the railing.

Harley and Ivy stare at you, mouths agape.

“How did she-“

“Did she just-“

Catwoman interrupts them both.

“We need a bird’s eye view, and you know it. She’s the only person who can do it and not get caught if things go south.” explains your “friend” smoothly.

Harley and Ivy look at each other, and Harley’s face splits into a grin.

“I’m not saving her ass if she fucks up,” is all Ivy says before walking away from the window.

“Ha!” shouts Harley in a jubilant tone. “Welcome to the team kid! If you sell out me or my friends, I will personally plant a bomb in your ear!” And she flounces over to follow Ivy to bed.

You’re left alone, terrified, and balanced on the railing as Catwoman smiles gently at you from inside, and then attempts to coax you back into the apartment with her outstretched hand.

“Hey, sorry,” she offers weakly. “I had to show them what you can do. It was the only way they’d agree. You’re safe now, come on.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say softly, still shocked. “Um, just promise me something?”

Catwoman’s eyes meet your wide, frightened ones.

“Sure, kid, what’s up?”

“Please don’t do that to me again,” you say, barely breathing. Chuckling, Catwoman grabs hold of both of your wrists and yanks you back inside.

“You’re on the couch tonight, okay? Try and get some sleep - training starts tomorrow," she tells you gently. You do not fail to notice that she makes no promises to you.

And as you drift off to sleep, you don’t remember it in the morning, but you dream of flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, again! For now, the focus will remain solely on the Sirens but expect visits from Doctor Crane and the Batman himself soon enough. Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I started writing one day at like, 4 in the morning. More notes to come in the future, but right now I'm just trying to post without any issues.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. All characters belong to DC, apart from Birdie. She's all mine.


End file.
